


The Talos Branding

by Doughnuts_And_Coffee



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Branding, Gen, Kidnapping, Original Character(s), Thalmor, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doughnuts_And_Coffee/pseuds/Doughnuts_And_Coffee
Summary: Rumare groaned, lifting himself up from the cold, slimey, stone floor. The bricks tiling the floor were long lost to the neglect of their owner and the damp ocean air that's finding its way inside now.Edit: Corrected some spelling errors :3





	The Talos Branding

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first fanfic, so I hop y'all enjoy! Sorrt if it's a bit fast paced, but I just threw it togeather. It looks short but i was actually working in this for maybe... 3 weeks?  
> Anyway, enjoy, and I love reading feedback, so feel free to tell me what you think!

Rumare groaned, lifting himself up from the cold, slimey, stone floor. The bricks tiling the floor were long lost to the neglect of their owner and the damp ocean air that's finding its way inside now. 

He looked around in confusion. Trying to hold himself up. His body felt like it weighed a ton and his weak, bony arms were no match for his new body weight. His eyelids felt heavy too and his vision was blurry and blackened.

He shivered, the cold ocean air from before creeping its way inside the stone room and chilling him to the bone. 

As he began to regain his vision, he started to feel more concerned for his safety. He was clearly in someoes basement. There was a small bookshelf with a few books. They had worn spines, so their contents were unknown to him. There was a small table and a bed was beside him. It appears he was either thrown beside the bed or fell off of it, he didn't really know.

He noticed his good robes smeared with dirt, mud and other unwanted filth he couldn't recognise but certainly didn't want on his fine silks.

He was still unable to get up, his body weighing heavy on him. He could barely look around as it hurt to move his eyes. He lay on the floor, straining his body to kick itself up and burn alive whoever thought they could just keep a Thalmor Justiciar in their disgusting, scummy basement!

One last attempt had turned fruitless as a long, drawn out creek made his magick infused blood run cold. He heard the sounds of heavy boots clanking down wooden steps and making their way towards him. The buckle of the boots jingled the closer his assailant came.  It was the only other sound besides the annoying dripping of a leak in the ceiling.

Rumare held perfectly still and closed his eyes, resisting his urge to try get up and question whoever was behind him. The loud clunk of the boots was enough to make him shiver again. Out of fear or the just cold- he didn't know. No. No, that was ridiculous. Rumare wasn't afraid. He was a Thalmor, he fought in the Oblivion Crisis! He wouldn't be frightened by something like this!

The clunking of boots and the jingling of the buckles got at its loudest. A pair of dirty, brown boots stepped within inches of his face. Rumare couldn't see the boots, but knew they were close. He could smell the mud and feces off of them, making him feel queasy.

The assailant prodded Rumare's face with his mucky boot, leaving mud and dirt to cover his cheek and a sliver of his thin, pale lips. This almost made Rumare shake him with anger. How dare he shove his disgusting feet in his face!

Eventually the clunking left, going off further down the basement to the bookshelf. After rummaging though a nightdresser outside of Rumare's vision for a minute, his assailent went to sit down and slug on a beverage. Rather loudly.

Rumare didn't know what to do. What should he do? Fake being asleep? He didn't know how long this person planned on staying for, so he didn't have much of a choice in that one. He swirled other ideas around his head. The ones most likey to not get him killed. After some eliminations he decided to fake waking up.

After Rumare faked getting up and looking around in confusion he saw his kidnapper. A Nord. He had short hair but a long, blonde beard. He was large, large for a Nord anyway. Very muscular but still shorter than Rumare. 

"What is this?" Rumare slurred a little, his jaw feeling heavy hanging in its sockets.

"Hmg-"

Rumare caught the man off guard, making him choke a bit on his mead. The Nord turned his head to face the High Elf.

"You're up." The Nord got up from his chair, pushing on his legs for support.

"Who are you? What did you do to me?"

"It's a, uhh-" the man paused, scratching his beard for a minute. "Oh, I dunno, some sorta sleep spell. Effective isn't it?" He chuckled to himself. "And I thought that mage was sellin' me a bluff."

The Nord took another swig of his mead and placed it down. He started to walk over to Rumare.

"Stay away from me! I'm with the Thalmor! You'll be executed for this!" Rumare started to shout at the man, trying to threaten him even from his vulnerable position.

The man chuckled again. "Gods, if I knew you were the chatty type I woulda just gotten a different fella." 

Rumare tried to struggle away as the Nord walked over to him, stopping close to the elf. He squatted down, staying upright on his feet and he looked down at his hostage.

"You don't need to tell me you're a Thalmor. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here."

The man grabbed the Mer by his thin face, holding his jaw in place tightly and gave him a stern and fierce look.

"Now I'd love to kill you. Believe me I would, but I have a bigger plan in mind."

The elf squinted his eyes but kept his brow furrowed. He grumbled, breathing heavily through his nose. He found himself to be unable to question or answer the man with the Nords vicegrip-like hands around him.

"Now, if you just hold still this'll be over before you notice."

The Nord let go of him, tossing his face to the side a little as he got up from his feet. He walked behind the High Elf yet again.

Rumare could feel his robe being lifted higher than he'd ever want a man, nevermind a Nord to lift it.

"What are you doing!? Stop!"

"Ahh, quiet you."

The Nords callous, warm hand pulled down his underwear, only low enough to expose his bottom.

"I command you to stop!" Rumare started to feel desperate.

"Quit your belly achin'! You'll wake up the wife."

The man got up and picked something metal off a stone surface.

"What are you doing?!"

Ruman felt a very warm heat almost burn his left cheek. A ragged cloth was stuffed in his mouth at this moment and the Nords hand covered him from behind.

He screamed curses at the man behind the cloth. It tasted foul. 

"Keep this in yer' mouth. I don't need your screams wakin' up everyone for miles."

Suddenly a searing pain rushed through Rumare. He smelt his skin burn up under scorched iron. Muffled screams escaped the Elf, straining his lungs to their limit as he screeched like a hagraven. The sight was enough to give the Nord a chuckle.

He felt he was about to pass out with the pain. It shot thought him like a thunderbolt and rocked him with white hot agony.

The intense heat turned to a painful throb as the branding iron placed onto his smooth skin was slowly removed. He could hear the sound of melted skin peeling off his behind and could smell cooked flesh.

He felt the Nords offending hand rub his left cheek. Rumare yelled and hissed sharply in pain as he tried to move his lower body away. It really hurt.

"There. That wasn't too bad, now was it?" The elf moaned in pain around the rag. He felt tears stinging his eyes and knew his ridicule was just around the corner if he let them fall.

"Now," the Nord got close to Rumares ear, leaning over his body. He could feel his trousers rub against his newly seered skin and and let out a choked plea for the man to get off him, still holding in tears. "I'm gonna bring you back where I found you," he gripped the elf by his hair again, pulling his head back to make eye contact with him. "An' you can find your own way back to that fucking skeever den near Solitude. Am I clear?"

He muffed an affirmative answer through the rag. If it wasn't in his mouth he wouldnt've made a whole load of sense because he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to form words.

"Good."

The Nord got up and looked down at his handy-work. A freshly seered branded imprint of the Talos amulet on the elfs golden skin. Forever condemming him to a life of shame and regret.

Forcing him to remember the crimes he's committed against Skyrim and Her proud people. Forever scarring this ungrateful maggot for the actoins he's done to this once proud land. Forever on his flesh. On his skin. On his person.

Forever.


End file.
